Costume Jewellery
by Myosotis Scorpioides
Summary: Complete AU. For the first time, Teresa and Patrick meet in a charity ball, believing they would never interact again. Yet, they end up caught in a lustrous affair, the consequences of which will be irreversible. "He lost his interest immediately. Disappointed, he started playing with his own wedding ring, wondering if he was losing his touch."
1. Prologue

**_Costume Jewellery_**

 **Prologue**

A woman had piqued his interest.

She was a brunette, her hair gleaming due to the blinding lights beaming down from the ceiling. Clad in a dress of the most beautiful emerald shade he had ever seen, she seemed to be the life of the otherwise boring fundraising event. Though he only managed to get a glimpse of her face, he clearly saw a charming smile adorning her lips, freckles situated on her slim face and deep green eyes, which were the obvious reason for her attire of the evening.

Nonetheless, the brunette didn't catch his eye for simply being a pretty face. No, he had seen many of those flock around him with his looks. It also wasn't because of the self-confidence she was radiating from within, or that faux smile which was believable enough for everyone except him. Rather, it was the daunting feeling that she didn't belong there – surrounded by a large group of wealthy people – so apparent in her posture.

In his mind, it didn't make sense. Her dress didn't seem to be made of cloth even a dime cheaper than the clothes of any other person in that room. The jewels adorning her neck in no way resembled an imitation and her looks were not inferior to any other woman there. Everything about her screamed money and ease, except the damned way her shoulders slumped once in a while when she thought that nobody was looking.

That was when he noticed a delicate wedding ring on her finger and his riddle was solved. The mystery woman turned out to be a stay at home wife, he concluded. One, which is experiencing issues with her husband and dislikes being left alone to mingle with strangers.

He lost his interest immediately. Disappointed, he started playing with his own wedding ring, wondering if he was losing his touch. How in the world wasn't he able to figure out such a cliché scenario from the first glance otherwise?

"Patrick Jane! It's been a while!" An oh-so-familiar voice of Walter Mashburn roared behind him.

"Only a year and few months." A crooked smile appeared on Patrick's lips.

When he turned around, he saw a brown-eyed man with his dark hair slicked back. Walter was dressed in a traditional – as well as a very expensive looking – tuxedo and a black bow tie that went with it. The only splash of colour in the man's event attire was a green pocket square. A one of nearly the same emerald shade as the dress of the mystery housewife.

There were tiny smiling wrinkles starting to form around the man's eyes. A feature Patrick Jane didn't recall seeing the last time they met. Upon a better inspection, he also noticed a wedding band made of gold tightly clasping his ring finger. It had many tiny scratches on its surface, indicating just how long it had been occupying the tiny strip of flesh.

About five years ago was the first time Patrick had seen Walter with that particular ring. They had met by accident. Walter had been on a date with a bombshell blonde and he had just happened upon them. Of course, the woman's hand was void of any sort of jewellery indicating her marital status. Even back then, the ring seemed to have been quite worn and Patrick distinctly remembered wondering what kind of woman his wife could be. Someone not enough for him to stay loyal, yet someone he could not let go.

Walter Mashburn was the reason behind Patrick's presence at this event, particularly the kind which Patrick Jane always chose to avoid. Too many rich and entitled people who perceived themselves to be the centre of the universe for his taste.

Though he and Walter were friends, they weren't that similar. Not only in physical appearance – which was, of course, a given – but also, in character. Walter liked fast and expensive cars, wild girls and having sex with them. Walter didn't believe in love. In retrospect, that was undoubtedly the reason behind the man's frequent divorce rate and – in his current marriage's case – lack of fidelity.

On the other hand, Patrick Jane was the opposite of Mashburn. He liked having fun but had found that material possessions no longer gave him happiness. He had never cheated on his wife or had a divorce on a whim. Patrick actually found it comfortable being in a committed and monogamous relationship.

But years ago, he used to be almost exactly like Walter. With the exception of the complicated love life, of course.

Yet, there were still some characteristics the two men shared. Both of them loved theatricality, playing stupid mind games on others and being the smartest person in the room. Though, they had both come from quite poor backgrounds and made their riches on their own merits, hence those traits could have just come with the new territory.

"Is Mrs. Mashburn here today?" Patrick asked anyway, despite already having a nagging suspicion.

"Oh, you want to meet her?" Walter grinned, ready to call upon his wife. There was a certain giddiness in his voice which made Patrick even more interested.

"I would love to."

"Don't move." He motioned and left Patrick behind.

Surely enough, in about five minutes, Walter appeared before him once more, but this time with the mystery housewife from before. The woman seemed even more uncomfortable than when he had first seen her, no longer bothering to hide her displeasure at not being able to flee this god-awful place, some regarded as heaven.

"This is my good friend – Patrick Jane." Walter did the honours. "And this is Teresa, my wife."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Patrick." She extended her hand in greeting.

Up close, Patrick noticed that her freckles weren't just contained to her face and nose. Lonely freckles continued to extend down her neck and even her shoulders.

"Oh, but the pleasure is all mine." He flashed her a blinding smile while taking her hand into his own and kissing the back of it.

Upon touch, Patrick noticed just how callused her hands were. Nothing like the ones which were fit for a housewife with enough money to hire a whole army of maids to do her bidding. Her grip was also a lot firmer than he had expected it to be. From afar, she had looked as if she was in a pretty good shape, but now Patrick could see that it went beyond that. Though her muscles were not visible Patrick guessed that she works out almost daily.

"Occupational hazard." He jested when the woman caught him staring a moment too long.

"Don't worry, I have quite a few of those myself." Teresa responded with a smile but continued looking at him a bit funny.

"You see, Teresa's a cop." Walter chimed in. Clearly, he was entertained by the way the two adults danced around each other.

"Actually, I'm a special agent at the FBI. Most of the time I work with murders and kidnappings." She corrected her husband. "I can see you have a problem with cops."

"What gave it away? I'm pretty good at controlling my facial expressions."

"You just look like it." Teresa admitted.

He could see it in her eyes that she had to hold herself back from straight out saying that he looks like a con. Of course, she wouldn't be wrong but it still amused Patrick.

"Oh, that wounds me. I've been insulted but not every day do I get told that I look like a criminal. Actually, some people even claim that I'm their knight in shining armour. But you're right. I have a problem with cops and they have a problem with me." He grinned in response. "Another occupational hazard."

* * *

AN: This is my first Mentalist fanfiction. I'm very excited to be writing it and hopefully, it will turn out great. This is going to be an AU (as you might have already noticed), but I still hope that I will be able to capture the characters well. Also, I enjoy writing and reading angst the most, hence this fic is going to be pretty angsty if I dare say so myself. If you're someone who's more into fluff, I advise not to read any further than this.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the prologue and will continue enjoying the future chapters. Positive and negative comments are welcome.


	2. Perils of Being Unprofessional

_TRIGGER WARNING_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **Perils of Being Unprofessional**

Bright lights assaulted her vision upon entering the interrogation room. It was one of the intimidation techniques used on suspects. The goal was to make them subconsciously feel as if they couldn't hide anything, or at least that was the official version. In truth, it was a light form of torture, causing the person of interest to tire out more quickly, develop at least a slight headache and fess up more easily. Of course, one would never hear anyone from the FBI admit it.

It wasn't fair, but usually, Teresa didn't mind it that much. The intense lighting made her job a little less complicated and, in turn, she could move onto another case more quickly. However, after a long day of doing paperwork entering that room was a pure torture. Her eyes were already overworked and now she felt as if she was a mole which wandered out of its dark cave by accident. Still, trying to appear unaffected, she concentrated on the file in her hands.

"So, we meet again." The man smirked upon laying his eyes on her.

It's been three months since Teresa had seen Patrick Jane for the first and the last time at the charity ball Walter dragged her to. That is, until now. The man sitting chained to the table in the interrogation room at the FBI just happened to be the same man her husband had introduced her to as his close friend.

"I can't say that I'm as delighted as you are." Teresa stated while sitting down opposite of the said man.

Finally, she lifted her eyes from the file in her hands and scanned the blond man. Patrick was clad in a blueish/greyish suit and a vest, paired with a blue dress shirt of a slightly lighter hue. The same – or maybe just identical to the ones – he wore to the fundraising event. The curls of his blond hair were messy and dirty with blood, as well as other kinds of grime. The bloodstains extended to his suit as well, leaving darkened spots all over it and, of course, his hands.

"You see, there was a bit of a struggle." Jane laughed humourlessly, undoubtedly, noticing her inspecting stare. "A guy ran into my knife and, well, here we are."

"You stabbed the man thirteen times." She continued looking at him, not reacting to his attempts to joke at all. "Mind you, gutting him like that was hardly necessary. A single stab to the heart would've done the same job without all of the mess."

"But it wouldn't have." Jane interrupted her rant "The way I did it... He suffered... He had his insides ripped out while he still was alive..."

"That's a cruel way to kill." Teresa sighed. Her headache was increasing more and more. "Why did you do it?"

Suddenly, his expression changed. It turned serious and solemn, forcing the giddiness – which was making Teresa think of him as a lunatic – to disappear. As the man leaned forward, his body shifted in the chair, causing one of its legs to let out a screeching squeak and the handcuffs to clunk against the metal table.

"You have my file, so you tell me."

The tone of his voice sent shivers down Teresa's spine. Thankfully, the well-trained muscles of her face didn't even flinch. Of course, she had studied his file before coming in to talk to him. It was the standard preparation before questioning a suspect.

Though it wasn't Teresa's case, the familiar sounding name had piqued her interest when she had heard it whispered in the corridors of the FBI. Especially, when the image of a charming blond-haired man had appeared behind her eyes. The moment she had been introduced to him, Teresa had known that he meant trouble and then had even been curious to find out what kind of trouble he had managed to get himself into. Before getting her hands on Patrick's file, she had expected it to be something along the lines of fraud, not a murder in a broad daylight.

"I understand that you believed him to be Red John-"

"That's because he was." He chimed in.

The man Jane had killed went by the name of Thomas McAllister. A Napa County Sheriff Teresa had met once while still working at the CBI. She vaguely remembered the man, but no matter how hard she tried to recall even the slightest thing being off about him, nothing came to mind. If anything, he seemed to be the epitome of normal in her book. Well, maybe he had been a bit slow, but that wasn't a crime. All in all, the man certainly wasn't Red John material.

"And I am aware of what Red John did to your family. However, that doesn't mean that you can just go around passing judgment on people." Teresa continued in a calm tone of voice. "You should have reported your suspicions to the police and let them investigate it. What are you going to do if the man you killed turns out to be innocent? You think you could live with that?"

"Oh, but I know that he was Red John. And the only thing I will never be able to live with is that I killed the bastard too fast." Fury burned in Jane's eyes as his lips formed those words. Without a doubt, the man meant everything he said.

"Doesn't that make you the same as him, then?" Teresa muttered under her breath.

Though she had no intention of it, Jane had heard her. It was the stunned silence and the slight tilt of his head that gave it away.

"Then, I'll let you rest for the night." She sighed while looking down at the watch on her wrist. Another hour stretched out before Teresa in the same irritating fluorescent lighting, only in a different interrogation room. "Tomorrow, someone will come to draw up your statement."

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _After the last bell of the day rang, Teresa hurried home. She had to make some kind of dinner before the boys got back as well. Their father had been in an extremely_ _foul mood recently and she doubted that he would look kindly at one of them whining because they_ _were hungry. In that kind of a_ _scenario, she didn't even know who_ _would have it_ _worse: her – for not taking care of her younger brothers – or them – for vocalising their displeasure._

 _A cure escaped_ _Teresa's lips. They were only children, they shouldn't be dealing with any of this._

 _She dreaded the stench of alcohol which would inevitably greet her at the doorstep._ _For_ _the last few days, her distaste for being home had increased almost tenfold. Her father had been on_ 'sick leave' _and didn't give her even a moment to relax between school and the maternal role she was forced to assume in the presence of her family._

 _It made her sick with_ _jealousy_ _and rage. She_ _w_ _anted_ _to be like other girls – to go to parties, talk about boys and have an overall carefree life, yet she was forced to be a surrogate for her mother._

 _Stray tears started rolling down Teresa's cheeks. Sometimes, she wished that her father would disappear like a puff of smoke. That way, neither she nor her brothers would have to live in the constant fear of his volatile reaction to anything they did._

 _Taking a deep breath, Teresa tried to swallow down her tears and keep an ominous feeling at bay. It had been taunting her_ _since early that_ _morning, and, quite frankly, caused her to fear that today would be the day when her father killed them all._

 _In her mind, Teresa could already see the headlines the_ _local_ _newspaper_ _would feature:_ ** _"A drunken_** ** _firefighter_** ** _and a father of four is the cause of his_** ** _children_** ** _'s_** ** _deaths", "Four_** ** _children_** ** _were beaten to death by their own father – the story of what was happening_** ** _next door"_** _or maybe_ ** _"Domestic abuse – w_** ** _hy_** ** _are we still not doing_** ** _anything_** ** _about it"._**

 _It was when she finally got inside_ _her childhood home_ _and saw the_ _wa_ _ll_ _of abstract art which once_ _was her father's brain_ _that she realised two things. Firstly, tomorrow_ _'_ _s he_ _adlines would be a lot different from what she had imagined on her way_ _home_ _. And secondly, she had to get this mess_ _sorted before any of her brothers saw it._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

Teresa felt the burning stare of Patrick Jane in between her shoulder blades. This time, their meeting was no longer taking place in an interrogation room, but her office. The FBI agent who had brought the blond man up from his holding cell was occupying her attention, leaving Jane behind her to wonder what was going on.

It had been an entire week since they last had the pleasure of seeing each other. Teresa was too busy getting the case transferred to her and begging her superiors to cut him a deal to go down and actually talk with the man.

In that period of time, Jane had changed out of the three-piece suit he had previously worn. It was collected as an important evidence in an ongoing investigation and taken to the forensics. Due to this predicament, now he was clad in a state-issued prison uniform, despite not being detained at that kind of facility.

"We're not here to write down your statement." Teresa began, trying to sound as nonchalant and as bureaucratic as she could. Finally, she sat down in her office chair and faced Patrick Jane.

"Oh, that's a shame. But I already worked out that part." The man in front of her bitterly retorted.

"There won't be a trial. The FBI is offering you to pay your debt to society by working alongside us to catch criminals."

The blond man's eyebrow arched in question.

"We believe that you would be a valuable asset to any team you work with." Teresa continued. "You have already worked with the law enforcement before and closed all of the cases you got your hands on. The evidence you have on Sheriff McAllister being the notorious serial killer Red John... well, I have looked through it and I believe you might be right. Of course, it will require a further investigation to confirm it."

"But that's not all there is to it, is there? I wonder what your true intentions are, Teresa."

"No matter what you believe, I do not have an ulterior motive." Her voice was full of authority as she said those words, but it was clear that Patrick Jane wasn't buying it.

The truth was simple – Teresa pitied him. The way she saw it, Jane was a toddler running into traffic. Not taking into consideration the consequences his actions could have at all.

Though the fact that he murdered a man in cold blood repulsed her – and quite strongly – Teresa was sure that if only he found a purpose in life he could do a lot of good. The files of his past jobs assisting the police singing praises to his intelligence also served to only encourage her. Men who did less for society got a second chance in life, so why couldn't Patrick Jane?

Of course, there was no way she could just tell that to the man in front of her, whose ego she presumed to be bigger than the entire United States.

"Well, we'll see about that..." He used a condescending tone and it irritated Teresa beyond belief. She had spent so many hours negotiating on his behalf and this was how he repaid her?

"If you don't want to do this for yourself, do it out of curiosity. I'll get you assigned to my team and while working alongside me you might be able to find out what my true intention in all of this is."

As Jane remained silent, she took it as a yes and continued.

"One of the agents will bring you one of the suits found in your motel room to your holding cell. You will also be given an ankle monitor. For now, the radius will be set to five miles around the FBI building, but as long as you will be with an agent you'll be able to go anywhere in Austin. I know it doesn't seem like a lot but if you behave well, in a year or two we'll be able to revisit the matter."

"Whatever you say, Teresa." He grinned.

"It's Agent Lisbon. We'll be working together from now on, so I'd like to keep our relationship purely professional." While speaking, Teresa stood up and motioned through her office window to an agent waiting outside. It was the same man who had brought Jane up and now was tasked with collecting and taking him back.

"Nothing about our relationship is professional, don't you agree, Teresa?" Were the last words Jane spoke as he was led out of Teresa's office.

Hoping that the hardest part of her day was over, Teresa went out to get herself a large cup of coffee. The bitterness of the black liquid had always managed to soothe her and provide her with comfort. This time, of course, promised to be no different. However, the last thing she expected upon her return was to find her team in frenzy, Patrick Jane missing from his cell and an origami frog on the top of the folded-up prison uniform he previously wore.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _A man about ten years older than Teresa kept staring at her. Though he was dressed well and didn't remind her of a violent criminal, the intensity of his stare creeped her out. Be it as it may_ _, this was still a police station and most of the people there were in some way involved with criminal_ _activities. Also, not every violent offender looked and dressed like a comic book_ _villain_ _, she knew that well enough from her personal_ _experience_ _._

 _Suddenly, the man stood up, slowly walking up to her. He kept his hands at his sides, making sure that they were in her field of vision. It was as if he was trying to signal that he wasn't dangerous, in hopes to appease her. Or maybe just protect himself. After all, out of the two of them, she was the one with the gun._

 _"Officer...?" He began._

 _"Lisbon."_

 _"Officer Lisbon, may I ask you a question?"_

 _Teresa nodded as a way of replying._

 _"My name is Walter Mashburn, and I couldn't help but wonder if you would go on a date with me?" A_ _mischievous_ _glint played in the man's dark eyes as he spoke._

 _It wasn't the_ _first time Teresa had been hit on at work. She was attractive and that did a great job_ _of_ _providing her with male attention. However, all of the times someone flirted with her at work, was when she was still working in retail or waiting tables. No one hit on her_ _on the job_ _when she became a cop. Men usually found her too threatening while dressed in a police uniform, with a gun in a holster._

 _Dumbfounded and amused, Teresa quickly refused, only to rejoice at her answer later, once she found out that the man by the name of Walter Mashburn was_ _the_ _main_ _suspect in a murder case._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

Teresa was beyond surprised to receive a call from the FBI office in California, with an agent claiming to have Patrick Jane in custody. She had put out the APB on him almost half a year ago and had given up all hope to see the man again. Even after the call, it took a few hours for it to sink in and for Teresa to realise that it wasn't some kind of mix-up.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Teresa as she took in the man in front of her. Clad in a dirty three-piece suit, paired with a messy mop of dirty blond hair, Patrick Jane looked straight out homeless. And chances were, he was. After all, the first thing they did after he had escaped was freezing all of his bank accounts. As quickly as they could, they also posted officers at his only estate – a house by the beach in Malibu –, as well as at the extended stay motels he frequented. In the end, that was where he was caught – trying to sneak into his own home.

"So, I presume, the offer is off the table." The blond man began once they were left alone in an interrogation room with the same fluorescent lighting as the one in Texas.

"Is that why you ran away? You wanted the deal off?" Teresa sighed, tired.

While on the flight from Texas, she couldn't force her eyelids shut, trying to guess how the encounter with the blond man would play out. Though the flight wasn't extremely long, it still drained the life out of her eyes and gave a sharp edge to her voice. A state, which no amount of caffeine seemed to be able to remedy.

"Oh, I wanted to see how you would react."

The arrogance apparent in Jane's voice and facial expression made Teresa fume in anger. The man in front of her strongly resembled the Cheshire cat and the image only served to agitate her further. She felt compelled to just punch him and break his nose, in hopes to swipe at least a bit of smugness off the blond's face.

"I'm going to bring you back to Austin." She stated.

"Well, that's a given, isn't it? I did hope that you would come up with a bit more original answer. To be completely honest, I'm a bit disappointed in you, Teresa." Jane continued his teasing, causing Teresa's patience to completely snap.

"Oh, bite me." She whispered under her breath, yet still loud enough for the man sitting on the opposite side of the table to hear.

After the words left her mouth, Teresa got up and exited the interrogation room. She needed a lot more sleep and a lot more coffee before she was ready to deal with Jane on their way back to Texas.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _The first case Teresa worked in the CBI involved Walter Mashburn. If you could call it a case_ _at_ _all_ _, that_ _is_ _._ _The wh_ _o_ _le deal was simply her new boss' favour to Walter whom the more she found out_ _,_ _the more influential he seemed._

 _It was a messy_ _deal_ _, involving Walter's ex-_ _fiancé_ _and his long-time rival. The point of it was to kill Mashburn, however, it was such an unnecessarily complicated plot. It even led Teresa to wonder if thinking_ _up telenovela-like plots_ _was all r_ _i_ _c_ _h people did after making their fortune._

 _After she was done with the hairy affair –_ _which eventually did end up turning into a legit case – Walter Mashburn wined and dined her for the first time. Their meal at_ _a fancy_ _Italian_ _restaurant was followed by a night o_ _f_ _passion, which_ _Teresa_ _perceived_ _to only be a one-night stand. The business trip to Europ_ _e_ _, which Walter went on right after_ _their_ _rendezvous, only served to further Teresa's belief._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

"Is there something wrong with your head?! You can't just ask a rich man – with connections reaching god knows how high up the ladder – if he killed his daughter!"

Teresa found herself shouting at Patrick Jane while they drove back to the FBI building. Not like it was uncommon, however. In her book, this had been a routine Monday for almost two years by now.

"After sexually abusing her for years." Jane corrected while studying her body language. He was preparing to duck in case she decided to hit him and that was the only reason Teresa still hadn't thrown anything at him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of getting one on her. The only solution was to get her revenge late when the blond man wasn't expecting it.

"Jesus, Jane! Can't you at least try and keep your mouth shut?! That's all I'm asking and it's hardly a lot!" Teresa continued to fume.

"Well, at least we found out that it was her father's brother that had been abusing her." He stated with a smirk on his lips, yet the man didn't even try to hide the disgust in his voice.

"And that gets us closer to finding her killer exactly how?!"

"It doesn't. But at least that way he will get the punishment he deserves."

"Unless they decide to keep it a secret. Their daughter is dead either way and I doubt that they would want the fiasco associated with such a claim." Teresa commented. Her voice was still angry, but slightly calmer and no longer as high.

"The mother seemed to want justice for her daughter and couldn't even look at either of the men when we left. She probably won't be afraid to speak up." Jane disagreed.

The woman sitting in the driver's seat sighed, ending the conversation. She could explain, that though it would be great if the uncle got punished for his crimes, it did them no good. Quite the opposite actually, as she doubted if any family member will be willing to speak with them without an attorney present ever again. It could set them back for weeks, if not months. If the father of the victim wrote a formal complaint, she might even get suspended for not being able to keep Jane on a shorter leash.

At times like these, she wished that she had changed her last name when she got married. Or at least, wrote it with a hyphen. Dear god, how much would it have helped today if she only introduced herself as a Mashburn. The father would've eaten out of her hand, in hopes to get on her and Walter's good side.

While glancing at Jane, Teresa sighed once more. There was no point in trying to explain the importance of common curtsey to him either. And besides, though his techniques weren't the most ethical, most of the time they generated excellent results.

Thinking back, it was obvious why Jane had become as bothered as he did by this case. The victim was the same age as Charlotte would've been right now if she had lived. That's why he just couldn't let go of the sexual abuse inflicted upon the poor girl, even though he let many other irrelevant to their case– yet just as horrible things – slide past him.

In a way, that about him reminded Teresa of her younger self. Back in the day, when she started working in the police force, she would often get roped into situations like those. Domestic abuse cases that reminded her so much of her own personal hell, which she barely managed to escape from.

It took Teresa years to stop having nightmares every single night and every morning waking up drenched in cold sweat. On the other hand, the blond man beside her was still living in his. Being unable to sleep or grace the world with a smile which reached his sea blue eyes. Though the man was a complete pain in her ass, she wanted to help him. To make him realise that no matter what happened, life went on and he should live while he still had a chance.

Teresa cleared her throat before speaking. For about half an hour they had been sitting in a complete silence.

"Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"At the art museum. I heard that they have a new exposition-"

"Good try, but I'm not gonna fall for it." She interrupted him. "It's out of your radius. So, the office or your silver bucket?"

"Why did you even bother to ask then? The last time I checked, my Airstream was still standing in the parking lot of the FBI building." He frowned, disappointed by her answer.

"Well, if you hadn't run away, you would've had a bit more space to work with."

"If I hadn't let myself be caught, I could've gone anywhere I wanted." Jane muttered under his breath.

His statement made Teresa roar with laughter and her reaction earned a small smile from the said man himself.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _Lost in a moment of passion, the couple had renewed their relationship upon Walter's return. In her mind, Teresa still saw them simply as friends with benefits. Walter still had occasional fun with models_ _,_ _as well as random_ _gorgeous_ _women_ _and she still went on dates with the men she found attractive. Then,_ _one night_ _Walter had surprised her_ _immensely_ _by asking_ _if they could ever be_ _official_ _._

 _"Do you want us to?" She had inquired in return once the initial shock had worn off._

 _It wasn't a new_ _idea to her_ _mind_ _– to be in a long-term relationship with Walter. Teresa_ _had considered it after he had left for Europe. She tried to imagine herself by the_ _man'_ _s_ _side, and in all_ _honesty_ _, she couldn't. She didn't do relationships and, well, Walter had been married so many times, she had presumed he no longer did them either._

 _"I would like to._ _" The man beside her replied._

 _"I guess w_ _e_ _could_ _try..." Teresa agreed, deciding that it was the next logical step in their relationship. Walter was good to her,_ _fun and interesting,_ _and maybe,_ _he could make her happy._

 _From there on out, everything happened so fast. Before she knew they had moved in together, got engaged and married. All there was left for Teresa was to pop out a child or two for them to get a_ _romance_ _film_ _ending._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

After every successfully closed case, the team would go out drinking. They felt like it was their collective responsibility to get stupid drunk after putting a cold-blooded murderer behind the bars.

It had been a long-standing tradition before Patrick Jane, and without a doubt, would outlast him. However, it was true that their little outings had become more often due to him joining the team. That's why every time before the team went out, Teresa would ask him to join them. Nevertheless, he never excepted the invitation until a few months ago. From then on, Teresa and Jane had a tradition of their own – staying behind whenever the rest of the team decided to start making their way home.

They would drink, talking about all of the small and insignificant things in their lives. Rarely, would they choose a more serious topic, something they couldn't speak about in the presence of others.

Sometimes, Jane would talk about the madman who took his family away, how he felt all those years after losing them and how it felt finally getting his hands on Red John. It was his deepest secrets and it made Teresa believe that he was starting to trust her. Yet, not even once had she heard him talking about the happy times with his wife and daughter. She didn't know if it was because he didn't trust her enough or because he just couldn't force himself to recall what he had lost.

Most of the time, Teresa was the chatty Cathy. She would become extremely loose-lipped and would answer almost any question the blond man would ask. Majority of them were stupid questions about her marriage or childhood. Patrick Jane seemed to be fixated on her happy memories and, in all honesty, Teresa loved it. While talking with him, she got to relive her whole life without all of the suffering and sadness.

"You know that Walter cheats on you with other women." Jane had stated one night. By that time the bartender had already cut them off and all they could do was talk. "Don't deny it, I can tell. Why do you stay with him?"

"There are so many reasons." She recalled herself answering. "Because I was raised Catholic, because he's nothing like my father, because I'm afraid I'll end up alone after leaving him, yadda yadda. I could go on giving you reason's all night long. But that's a boring and long conversation."

It was the only night Patrick had asked Teresa a serious question and she ended up revealing him one of her most painful and humiliating secrets. Frankly, she felt embarrassed for even having acknowledged his question. But he had talked about his time in an asylum – a period of his life he felt particularly ashamed about – and she felt like she had to give him something in return.

Today, their team had closed another case and in turn, went out drinking. Teresa had asked Jane if he was going and he had promised to show up as well. However, the man in question was absent from their little gathering. Though it worried her, Teresa felt as if it was for the best. Tonight, she didn't trust herself. If he had come and got her drunk enough, she would've told him her darkest secret.

As the phone in front of Teresa started to buzz due to Walter's call, she saw the date displayed at the very top of her smartphone's screen. It was the anniversary of Charlotte and Angela's deaths. While walking out of the busy bar to take the aforementioned call, Teresa decided to give Jane a week. If he didn't show up by the end of it, she would start searching for him. Either way, if he left the area his ankle monitor was bound to, she would be informed in a matter of moments.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _The excitement in_ _Teresa_ _and Walter's_ _relationship_ _had d_ _ied out completely and the_ _dark-haired_ _woman_ _knew that her husband was starting to stray. It made the ever-confident Teresa L_ _isbon feel as if she had completely failed in her personal life. That's why she_ _came_ _to a conclusion_ _that it was_ _time_ _to have a child._

 _And they tried, they tried so hard. However, Teresa still failed to get pregnant for the first two_ _years as a married woman. At the beginning of the_ _third_ _year of their marriage, the couple was_ _finally_ _graced with what they expected to be a new addition to their family. They had already started shopping for the baby and making plans for the nursery when Teresa had a miscarriage._

 _"Sometimes, it just happens." The doctor in the ER had claimed, but Teresa didn't believe those words._

 _It wasn't a good enough excuse in her book. Especially, after she lost the second baby by the end of the next_ _year and the third one a couple years later._ _It_ _made her fall into deep_ _depression and even the new job and a high position at the FBI failed to prevent her mental state from deteriorating any further._

 _Teresa_ _didn't want to endure it ever again. She just wouldn't have been able to handle losing another child. From then on out, Teresa made Walter wear a condom whenever they had sex._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

When Patrick Jane still didn't show up for work the following week, Teresa tracked him down to a bar at the very edge of his recently earned five-mile radius.

As soon as she approached the blond man she could smell the stench of alcohol as if he had been bathing in it. It caused Teresa to recall the hellish days of her childhood and in disgust, she wrinkled her nose.

"I'll have what he's having." Teresa ordered sitting down next to Jane. He didn't look at her, but she knew that he had recognized her voice, caught a whiff her perfume and noticed many other details due to which he was usually aware of her presence.

After serving her bourbon, the bartender started not so secretly watching them. Teresa didn't blame him – at the moment Patrick Jane looked like trouble more than ever and she herself might've looked as if she was about to start making a scene. Poor guy, he just wanted to do his job peacefully, yet – if she knew Patrick Jane well – this night is going to be anything but that.

"You've been calling me a lot..." The blond man finally started, startling Teresa. His voice was silent and a bit hoarse, as if he had been shouting a lot.

"That's because I was worried. You disappeared so unexpectedly." She stated, her voice much calmer than she could've hoped.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. I hope that means that you will be leaving me alone and stop disturbing my peace with your calls."

"But you're not." Teresa argued. "You spent the last week avoiding everyone you know and, by the looks and smells of it, steeping in booze. Now, I don't have the observation skills you possess, but that doesn't seem like fine to me."

"Who are you to tell me that?" Jane snickered while finishing the last few drops of bourbon left in his glass and ordering another one.

"I'm your friend, I care about you and want to help you. Now you might not want my help, but the least I can do is help you seek it from someone else." She talked again, trying to reach for his shoulder and squeeze it in a comforting manner. However, he was quicker and managed to avoid her touch.

"Firstly, you yourself need that help." He mocked her. "This all mighty Agent Lisbon persona is only a mask and you're so good at keeping it up! Who could imagine that beneath all of that tough exterior is an insecure little woman lets her husband cheat on her?!"

"Patrick, please!" Teresa let out a harsh whisper. "We're in a public place!"

"Should I also stay quiet about the fact that you were planning to use your sob story to bring me back? By the way which one were you going to use: the one about how your father abused you or the one about how you lost a child?"

She couldn't stop herself from looking shocked at his statement.

"Why are you so surprised?" Jane's mocking voice reached her ears once more. "I'm not blind. I've seen how you act around children. So much pain and envy in those pretty big eyes of yours can be seen whenever you interact with one."

"I lost three children, Patrick." It hurt to admit it out loud, especially when she never talked about it. Nevertheless, this might appease the man in front of her and she just wanted to stop him from going down a self-destructive spiral. "It wasn't as dramatic as finding them killed, but-"

"Oh, stop it! Next, you're gonna say how you understand what I've been through and so on. You're giving yourself too much credit. After all, you were not the one to run off your mouth on live television and get your family killed!" He laughed maniacally, causing the few people at the tables to give them weird looks.

"That's not true. You have to understand that you were not responsible-"

"You know, I forgot." Jane interrupted her again. It seemed as if he wasn't able to hear what Teresa was saying over his inner turmoil. "I forgot the anniversary." Now, he was sobbing. "I went about my day as if it was any other day. I almost went out with the team for drinks. I have their blood on my hands and I... and I just forgot!"

"Neither your wife nor your daughter would've liked it if you stayed hung up over their deaths for the rest of your life." Teresa talked quite calmly but could see the anger growing behind Jane's eyes. Drinking the still untouched glass of bourbon in one gulp, letting it burn the back of her throat and motioning to the bartender to pour her another one, she continued. "It's been over twelve years. Grieving is fine – it's okay. But this obsession you developed – it's not healthy."

"Don't talk about them as if you had known them-!"

"I will! You stay in this metaphorical hole because you don't have a single thing for which you could live! Go on dates, fall in love, get married and have children! You won't be replacing them and you've beaten yourself enough to deserve it!"

In a matter of moments, Jane found a way to rebut her statement and Teresa found another way to answer him. Their exhausting argument went on for hours and involved an enormous amount of alcohol. It was nothing new to them, but neither of them expected it to lead to waking up next morning in a motel room, completely naked and with the knowledge that they had sex the night before.

* * *

AN: I'm overjoyed that so many people enjoyed the prologue! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter too. With this fic, I'm trying a new format (flashbacks/p.o.v changes in between scenes). It's a bit different from my other fics, hence I'd be very grateful if left a comment telling me if you liked it or not.

I probably will never be posting another chapter so quickly, so don't worry if the next chapter takes about a month (if not more) to be uploaded.

Fun fact: I also know how to make a jumping origami frog. My friend taught me when we were in 5th grade, I think. Playing with them is the most quality time you can get during maths.

Thank you for reading, positive and negative comments are welcome!


	3. All That Glisters Is Not Gold

TRIGGER WARNING

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **All That Glisters** **Is Not Gold**

In a haze caused by an extreme amount of alcohol, Lisbon had told Patrick much more than he ever wanted to hear out loud. Much more than she had previously shared with him.

She began recounting her plights by talking about her childhood. At first, her memories were pleasant to listen to, as she recalled the time while her mother was still alive. A tender smile graced Lisbon's lips as she talked, in turn, causing Patrick to start slightly smiling as well. The bustling, yet welcome chaos painted him a picture of a happy family of six – something along the lines of the ones in children's movies which he used to occasionally watch with Charlotte.

Nevertheless, not long after, Lisbon's memories turned grim. Patrick had already been aware of the fact that her mother had been killed by a drunk driver and her father was never the same after, so none of it was a surprise to the blond man. The woman next to him talked about the abuse she only hinted at during their previous conversations in incredible detail as well. The story she retold was awfully vivid and painful to hear.

"By the way, how did you know that my father abused us? I never told you that." She inquired about midway into her monologue.

"You forget, that I used to make a living out of people's tragedies."

Patrick reminded her while sporting a sour grin on his face. He saw that she was dissatisfied with his answer, hence he expanded his explanation.

"During our nights out, you barely spoke about your father after your mother's passing. At first, I got the impression that by then he was no longer in the picture or simply an awful father, but then I inquired the reason behind you staying with Walter. One of the explanations you gave me was, and I quote: _'because he's nothing like my father'._ Given, that Walter does run around and had no problem leaving countless women before, there was only a single explanation left. All I had to do was put two and two together."

But that was only a half-truth. As a matter of fact, he had noticed it in her mannerisms long before those conversations happened. Yet, he was unwilling to divulge that particular piece of information to a woman who praised herself for being able to remain unaffected.

From there on out, their conversation changed direction – Lisbon started talking about Patrick. The blond man knew that it was because she didn't want to discuss Walter with him. Or rather, the sob story of how she lost her children, as he had previously called it.

Via her silent muttering, Patrick was informed just how much the woman sitting next to him had pitied him ever since reading his file. She claimed to be embarrassed to admit it, as she had always hated being pitied herself.

Nevertheless, somehow the conversation had shifted back to Lisbon in due time. Patrick had a nagging suspicion that she had never vented before, only listened to other's troubles. That's just how she was – Saint Teresa.

"All of my life, I put my job first, no matter what. As you may have noticed, the law enforcement is still very much a boys' club. Because of that, to get acknowledged, I have to be twice as good as anyone else. Hence, I always set out to be the best. Not to blow my own horn, but I always was the best. I still am the best. To keep it up, I had to endure late nights at the office every single day – both on weekdays and on weekends."

A bitter smile found its way to Lisbon's face. It took a breather and another few shots before she continued.

"When I lost my first baby, doctors told me not to blame myself, that those things just happen and yadda yadda. But that morning, I already knew that something was off. I felt terrible and I didn't go to work. Nevertheless, I soldiered on, afraid of what my male colleagues and superiors would think."

Lisbon looked so defeated and it pained Patrick to see her that way. All he wanted to do, was tell her to stop, admit that he didn't want to listen to all of the gory details. It was incredibly easy for her pain to become his pain, and not only because, in a way, it mirrored his own tragedy. They had become too close, Patrick cared about her too much for him to stay impartial as Lisbon continued to talk.

"And then the second baby came. After we found out that it's going to be a girl, we named her Hope." A wave of shock washed over Patrick's features and Lisbon must've noticed it. That moment, the blond man realised that he must really be drunk. "You thought I miscarried all of them, right? Oh, I gave birth to Hope. She just wasn't alive at the time. If it makes you feel better, I lost my third baby while still unaware that I was carrying it. I just wish that I could've stayed ignorant regarding that little piece of information."

"But you can still try again..." Patrick's voice came out weak, as if it belonged to a lost little boy.

An unexpected sound graced his ears at that moment – the woman in front of him laughed at the statement.

"That's what I've been telling you the whole evening..."

Those words Lisbon had said with her eyes shut and her head thrown back in a painful laughter were the last thing he remembered before waking up in a motel, with naked Lisbon lying beside him. As he also found himself to be in a complete state of undress, it didn't take a genius to figure out what that meant. Hence, Patrick did the only thing he could think of – he bolted.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _Though Patrick disliked the way his father was, the young boy loved being praised by the said man. Even if it was only for a good performance. Those little actions indicating his father's_ _approval_ _filled the void left by Alex Jane's non-_ _existent_ _parental love and the absence of his mother._

 _So_ _, Patrick kept practicing in hopes to become even better at his craft. He was sure, that in the end all of that hard work would pay off. Not only was he bound to receive praises from his father, but also an_ _acknowledging_ _roar of the_ _audience_ _._

 _It didn't take long for the young boy to fall in love with being on stage, as it meant_ _undivided_ _attention. It had almost become a second nature to him. After all, there aren't many things that are_ _easier than_ _saying the things people want_ _to hear_ _when you_ _precisely_ _know what it is_ _._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

The first thing Patrick did, on his quest to disappear, was find a guy who could remove his ankle monitor. It wasn't a piece of cake, as it involved quite a few shady deals in dirty bars and cost him a huge sum of money, but Patrick Jane always got what he wanted and this time was no different.

For the first month after departing, he considered going back to California for a while. He would've loved to visit Angela and Charlotte's graves – use the privilege which was taken away from him ever since he started working with the FBI. Maybe even stay at his house in Malibu for a while. But after thinking better about it, Patrick decided to stay away from that state as far away as possible. He wasn't worthy of visiting the cemetery where his wife and daughter were buried.

A profound feeling of shame haunted Patrick's mind due to having slept with Lisbon. By getting involved with another woman in such an intimate way, he had betrayed Angela's memory. Patrick still thought about her as his wife and being unfaithful made the said man sick to his stomach. Especially, since that big mouth of his had been the reason for her death. The whole deal of him getting drunk and losing the control of his libido was just plain disrespectful and gross.

For a while, Patrick even felt as if he had forsaken his friendship with Walter. Even if the man had cheated on Lisbon, it didn't mean that he deserved to be cheated on by his wife with a person he considered to be a close friend of his.

That's how the blond man came to hold Lisbon accountable for the events of that fateful night. When the said woman got to the bar, he had already been drunk off his ass, which counted as a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he lost control of himself. But Lisbon was still sober. She was supposed to be the responsible one. Instead of getting tanked, she was supposed to haul him back into his Airstream and order him to sleep off the alcohol. She was supposed to talk some common sense into him before they ended up in a motel room, before they reached the point of no return.

Yet, Lisbon did none of those things.

It took a solid month for Patrick to change his opinion on the matter. The blond had realised that he was the one to reopen Lisbon's wounds, causing her to lose the sight of the grounded boss persona she had so carefully crafted over many years. With his words, Patrick had humiliated and hurt her. Reduced the confident Teresa Lisbon to a sobbing mess. He was the one who led her to drink that first glass of bourbon, followed by another one and another one.

Wasn't that what he always did, though? Hurt people he cared the most about?

Right then and there, another wave of disgust washed over Patrick. This time, it was directed towards himself. He had disrespected and used Lisbon, even though she had always supported him. During their time as co-workers, she had become his best friend, the only person he could count on no matter what happened. A person, who let him grieve in peace, before finding him and trying to mend his soul which he had shattered to pieces.

Finally – after more than three months apart from her – Patrick Jane realised that what he felt towards Lisbon was love. And not the brotherly or friendly type of love he had thought to have felt for the green-eyed brunette. Oh no, he loved her like a man loves a woman. He desired to have Lisbon, hold her in his arms the same way he had that night, now nearly four months ago. He longed to hear her moan once more, to make her call out his name in the heat of the moment the same way she did back then.

The excruciating cycle of self-batter took Patrick for a ride once more, causing him to get lost in both self-pity and disgust. The blond knew that he should be a bigger man, that he should swallow his feelings and never go anywhere near Lisbon again.

However, Patrick was but a selfish man, perfectly aware of the lack of happiness in Lisbon and Walter's marriage. That's why by the end of the fourth month away, he found himself standing next to the said woman's car and watching her emerge from the FBI building.

"What are you doing here?" Lisbon inquired dismayed. She only spoke when her figure was no longer veiled by the dark and the distance between the two of them was short enough for there to be no need for her to shout.

"I thought that you would be happy to see me. Your coldness wounds me, my dear." Patrick joked while staring straight into those green eyes he had missed so much.

In a short assessment, Patrick noticed all of the subtle changes in her appearance. Firstly, her hair was slightly shorter than it was four months ago. However, not short enough that anyone would've noticed it except him. She must have had her ends trimmed not so long ago.

Slightly darker bags under her eyes indicated the lack of sleep and caffeine on this particular morning. Residue of an eyeshadow – three or four shades darker than usual for Lisbon – occupied the very corners of her eyes. It meant an evening out with Walter and maybe even a sleepless night for the two of them.

Jealousy swirled in his chest at the vile thought of another man holding her the way he had held her all those months ago. Still, Patrick forced it down. It was not his place to pry into her married life. At least not now, not until she made it his place.

"I'm not in the mood to play your games today, Jane. I'm tired." There was a slight edge to Lisbon's voice which he didn't like.

Had she not wanted to see him? Had she wanted to forget that night so badly she was willing to force him out of her life even if he wanted to be a part of it? The thought hurt, however, Patrick couldn't blame her if she did.

"Oh, but you love my games. And don't try to pretend like it's not true." He smiled but that only served to get an annoyed grunt from Lisbon.

Immediately, Patrick stopped. He didn't have the luxury of irritating Lisbon to the point at which she walked away without even listening to what he had to say. For if she left, the man had no idea if he would be able to muster up the courage to stand in front of her ever again.

"All jokes aside, we do have to talk." He started once more, but this time his face was serious.

"There's nothing to talk about." Lisbon stated while circling her car to get in from the other side. Her face now was void of the irritation she so plainly displayed previously. Instead, she just seemed tired and ready to wash her hands off him.

"But there is." Patrick got in as well. For now, he had the upper hand as he was the one occupying the driver's seat. "We slept together."

"You were drunk, I was drunk, we both needed comfort. It happened, but it was a mistake. Now, we just need to forget about it." Was Lisbon's recap of that night's events.

"The way it happened was a mistake. How I treated you was a mistake. I should have taken you to a fancy restaurant, we should have dated for a while and only then made love." As he talked, Patrick looked pleadingly at the woman beside him. Lisbon's eyes were a mixture of fear and guilt. He despised being the cause of those feelings in the woman he loved.

"You said it yourself that I should move on." He tried again, his voice but a weak echo.

"But you haven't moved on." Lisbon replied while staring at the worn golden wedding band on his ring finger. "And when you decide to, it will not be with me."

She made it sound so final that Patrick had no other choice, but to get out of the car and hope that he will manage to corner her later.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _Patrick sat in his client's living room, waiting_ _to begin his performance_ _._ _Before he left the house, he_ _and Angela had argued once more. The topic of their argument_ _remained_ _the same it always was – his profession._

 _Angela hated the fact that Patrick was still doing readings and_ _didn't_ _bother to_ _hid_ _e_ _it. After all, t_ _his was the kind of life lifestyle she wanted to run away from when she left the carnival and Patrick knew that full well._

 _When they first got married, they had no other way to support themselves, apart from P_ _atrick_ _pretending to be_ _a psychic. That was the only reason Angela let him do it back then._ _Now, was well past that point. They had everything they longed for – a house of their own, enough money to last a lifetime and a happy little girl to lighten up their days._

 _Yet, Patrick still found_ _himsel_ _f_ _muttering under his breath that he had to continue – that it wasn't enough. He used to_ _claim_ _that he was doing it to provide for Angela_ _, to_ _create_ _her_ _safe haven. When Charlotte came along, he started insisting that he continued being a fake_ _psychic for_ _their already_ _two-year-old_ _daughter. To provide her with a childhood neither of her parents had._

 _All of those were only excuses, however._ _Both Angela and Patrick knew that. The truth of the matter was, Patrick loved being a_ _small-time_ _celebrity. He adored all of the fame, money, and glory that came with it even more._

 _The_ _reason_ _behind it was also quite simple, really_ _,_ _– deep inside of him, there was still a boy who would put up shows per his father's command and which longed for the affection of strangers._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

The following month after the confrontation in Lisbon's car was a particularly damaging period of time to their relationship. Refusing to return to FBI if she didn't consider the possibility of them becoming lovers, Patrick had followed her around like a lost puppy. He did everything - flirting, buying flowers and stuffed teddy bears. Acts Patrick would define as cliché. But at least, they were romantic and cute and all of those other things Lisbon might have been missing in order to imagine them in a relationship.

Yet, those gestures only served to aggravate the woman further. All she did, was ignore his romantic gestures and go on about how the government had wasted a lot of money looking for him. On especially bad days, she would even threaten to shoot him if he didn't leave her alone. Of course, he refused to yield and continued with those stupid charades every single time.

That cycle would repeat itself over and over until one morning, Lisbon snapped and sat Patrick down in diner they used to frequent as colleagues. It reminded Patrick of the days before this whole shebang happened. Back when they shared lunches at the very same table they sat at now. Over the said meal, they discussed numerous cases and sometimes even took part in the good old FBI rumour mill.

Yet, this time, a lot more different conversation was to take place at the table.

"You wanted to talk, so speak." Lisbon barked out her order at him while taking a sip from her huge mug of coffee.

"All I want is for you to give me–us a fighting chance." Patrick admitted, this time without any games or ploys.

"Do you think you deserve it?" She spoke, trying to hit where it hurt the hardest.

Though Patrick refused to show it, she had succeeded.

"No, of course not." A playful smile was present on the blond man's face and he did a great job keeping the note of hurt out of his voice. "But you're the only one that could–can save me from myself."

"Save you, at the price of my own peace of mind?"

"I wouldn't hurt you. I swear."

"You say that now, but you would leave me as soon as we would start having problems. Your actions up to about a month ago stand to be a perfect example of that." Lisbon stated, standing up and getting ready to leave. "You also seemed to be forgetting that I'm married. That night, I might have forgotten it too, but that will not happen ever again."

Her words were nowhere near enough to drive Patrick away. Especially, due to the fact that during their whole conversation he watched Lisbon's eyes and saw just how dilated her pupils were.

Hence – the same day – Patrick entered the FBI building for the first time in over five months, let himself get apprehended and negotiated a new deal. He got awarded a new ankle monitor – the newest model, the current state of the art technology –, had the five-mile radius, which he worked so hard for, reduced to his Airstream and the FBI building, and another ten years added to his sentence. Nevertheless, all of that was worth working with Lisbon again, regaining her trust and, possibly, taking their relationship to a whole new level.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _As Patrick drove up to his Malibu residence, he was feeling grand. The show had been perfect, as far as he was concerned. Even though more than an hour had already passed since he left the studio, he could still feel the eyes of the_ _viewers_ _tracing his every – even the slightest – movement._

 _The whole_ _affai_ _r_ _had not_ _only_ _been electrifying but also quite a nice change of pace. Patrick always liked to divert from the usual sob stories he was forced to make up most of the_ _time_ _and_ _having to describe the profile of a serial killer on live television, was not something he did often._

 _As quietly as he could, Patrick_ _en_ _tered_ _the house, not wanting to wake up Angela or Charlotte. The only thing which dampened his mood was the fact that he had fought with Angela before leaving for the shoot. Not like it was their_ _first time_ _arguing, but he still_ _disliked doing it with the woman he loved more than life_ _its_ _elf_ _._

 _In moments, he decided to_ _find_ _a way to make it up to her in the next few days. He had no work lined up until the end of the week and could reject any offers that came._

 _The first thing he could do was cook Angela a breakfast and bring it to the bed. She always_ _appre_ _ciated_ _the gesture, and though it never was enough for him to get back on her good side, it would be a lovely start to the morning. After that, they could go to the beach with their little girl. Enjoy the quality family time he had been missing out on due to his busy schedule._

 _Ignorant_ _to the ominous atmosphere looming inside the house, Patrick_ _ap_ _proached_ _the bedroom he and his wife shared. A note was attached to the closed door of the aforementioned room using a clear tape._ _It read:_ ** _"Dear mister Jane, I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your lovely wife and_** ** _child_** ** _."_**

 _His blood ran cold and the content smile left his face. Patrick opened the door and was_ _gree_ _ted_ _by the sight of a red smiley face drawn in red liquid. The whole room_ _stank_ _of copper and Patrick's mind refused to acknowledge what that could mean._

 _Willing his feet to move, Patrick saw what he hadn't imagined even in his worst nightmares. Angela and Charlotte were butchered, his wife's toenails painted with her own blood. He could feel his brain shutting down, refusing to believe what his eyes wer_ _e_ _seeing._

 _The sight in front of him couldn't be true. It had to be a nightmare. One, from which, he will be woken up by Charlotte's melodic laughter or Angela's soft kisses. Yet, it wasn't._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

It was an abduction with the kidnappee a boy of only three years old. No one in the team fancied kidnappings, especially the ones involving children, but at the very least it wasn't another murder. Well, at least, not now, and it didn't have to turn into one at all if they only found the child in question soon enough. However, time didn't stand still and with every call the team received, the kidnappers seemed to become more and more agitated.

Patrick was the one to figure out that, at the very worst, the calls were being made from a warehouse near train tracks. From there on out, Wylie took over and searched the timetables for trains which could possibly coincide with the calls. It didn't take him very long to find a warehouse district which fit the bill perfectly, the problem was it had tens of warehouses in it, most of which stood right beside train tracks.

Lisbon, Cho, and Fischer were the ones out in the field and, of course, were forced to split up. Each one of the three FBI agents had warehouses assigned to them and SWAT teams on the scene to assist them. Their goal was to avoid a shoot-out at any cost and end the affair as swiftly as possible.

Lisbon and the swat team aiding her were the ones graced with the honour of coming across the assailants. They managed to get the boy out without much trouble, however, the apprehension hadn't gone exactly according to plan.

It ended up being quite a messy ordeal, with shots fired on both sides, leaving one of the kidnappers dead and the other one heavily wounded. Though the side of the law enforcement suffered no casualties, three members of the SWAT team, as well as Lisbon herself, suffered injury due to opposing fire.

Or at least, that's how Cho and Fischer described it to Patrick. All of the three agents in the field had been talking via intercom at the time of the shooting, leaving Wylie and himself out of the loop. It was stupid to exclude two of the team members just like that, but this operation was nowhere near as dangerous as some the others they had completed successfully. Hence, the involvement of Wylie and Patrick was deemed unnecessary in a matter of minutes. Especially, since there was nothing they could do and those sent out to the field had SWAT teams with them.

The injured woman herself was absent from the FBI office, where she was meant to return if it indeed had only been a flesh wound. Patrick's brain opted out and he imagined the worst-case scenario. Not letting either Fischer or Cho to inform him of Lisbon's condition, he stormed out of the office as soon as the address of the hospital, which she was taken to, came up.

Patrick drove his Citroen through the streets of Austin like a madman, with his ankle monitor beeping up a storm.

Once, the said man had already lost a woman whom held not only his heart, but also his sanity. It couldn't be happening for the second time. Not so soon after he had realised his feelings for her. Not when behind that fear and guilt in those pools of mossy green he could so clearly see the reflection of the same tender feeling.

During his drive to the hospital, Patrick's chest ached. He cursed under his breath for having allowed himself to move on. Had he not learnt anything during that decade of pure agony? What led him to believe that he could handle going through that again?

And now it simply was too late. Patrick – even if he wanted to – could no longer force his heart to stop harbouring those delicate feelings towards Lisbon, no matter how hard he tried. Now, he needed to know that she was breathing to breath himself.

Patrick laughed bitterly. If this was the end of her, it would be the end of him too.

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

 _The six months Patrick spent in the asylum did him no good. He still felt as if his mind was not right even if they chose to let him leave. Could it even be right ever again? Patrick doubted any man could've come out sane after seeing what he had seen._

 _Without any ado, Patrick walked out of the building and took a cab back to his Malibu residence. He hadn't told anyone about the murderous_ _thoughts_ _being cooked up in his head, especially not his doctors. They would_ _hav_ _e_ _made him stay and that would have meant that he had chosen to be confined_ _voluntarily_ _. He had, at least, that much common sense_ _._

 _Such a shame, that there was not enough of it left to prevent him from sleeping under Red John's smiley drawn in Angela's_ _blood or repel him from seeking revenge._

... ∽∾●∾∼ …

Patrick didn't need to search for Lisbon when he got to the hospital. As a matter of fact, he didn't even get to enter the building, as Patrick laid his eyes upon the said woman while still out in the parking lot. Shocked, he realised that she seemed okay.

Well, as okay as one could be after being wounded in a shootout. A sling confined Lisbon's right arm, preventing it from moving. Her top bulked around her midsection in a way which indicated bandages underneath it. A pure white gauze was wrapped around her neck, in a way resembling a collar.

All of the colour returned to the previously monochromatic world and Patrick's heart started beating at a normal pace once more. It finally sunk in. Lisbon was alright.

"Jane, what are you doing here?" She approached him and a strong case of déjà vu had Patrick smiling bitterly.

"I'm your prince in shining armour, here to pick you up." He replied, hoping that this time the parking lot will be a place of, at least, a slightly more pleasant conversation.

"Seriously, are you alone?" Lisbon seemed genuinely baffled by his presence. She started looking around, expecting to see one of the other FBI agents walking around.

"As you can see, I'm all alone." Patrick witnessed panic wash over her features. It was followed by tiredness and resignation. "Don't worry, the damned thing stopped beeping about ten minutes ago. Cho probably called off the agents coming to arrest me."

"I can call a cab, you should go back." Lisbon sighed.

Oh, if only she knew how worried he had been, the insanity her being injured had brought upon him. The thought of parting with her had brought a similar sensation upon Patrick. Even though the woman standing in front of him was indeed Lisbon and she was indeed alive, the sight offered him less comfort than moments ago. Now, he physically needed to smell her soft hair, hear her heart beating – feel that she was still there with every fibber of his being. There was simply no way Patrick was going to let her go.

"You had a long and hard day, let me give you a lift." Patrick insisted, dazzling her with one of his most blinding smiles.

"Jane, you want something." Lisbon's eyes narrowed. "Just tell me and get over it. I want to get home and take a long bath."

"Beside the fact that I want to give you a lift?"

"Of course, beside the fact that you want to give me a lift." Her features were distorted into a frown by annoyance.

"Well then, you know perfectly well what I want."

"Didn't we agree to drop this?" Lisbon was beyond irritated and the choice to show it was blatant in her voice. "We were having a good time just being colleagues-"

"No. It was you who decided to drop this and I did nothing to indicate agreeing with it." Patrick walked closer to the woman in front of him. This time, he was determined to get the answer he wanted.

"You asked me to take you seriously and I did! I thought about it, Jane! Nothing good would come of it! And, besides, I'm married-!"She shouted and people started staring at them.

Patrick saw it in Lisbon's eyes – she was crashing. The adrenaline was wearing off, making her confront the events which took place only a few hours prior and he had no right to attack the already agitated woman like he did. However, this might be his only chance to get Lisbon admit her true feelings.

"Tell me that you don't love me and I will give up. Don't use your marriage as a scapegoat." Patrick's voiced was laced with venom. He knew that his next few words will tip her over, but he continued to talk anyway. "Don't try to give me that Catholic bullshit, either. If you were a good little girl like your mother raised you to be, you wouldn't have slept with me. Don't you think your mother would be disappointed if she found out that you imagine another man every time your husband touches you?"

Lisbon clenched her uninjured hand into a tight fist and hit him. Blood started trickling down Patrick's upper lip. It was a miracle that she hadn't broken his nose, as she certainly intended to. This punch, instead of expressing friendly annoyance, showcased pure fury. Never behind her hit had Patrick felt an intention to hurt him, yet, here it was.

Suddenly, all off the heat in the air was gone. Lisbon's face drained of colour. Patrick read the horror and shame in her eyes. He had pushed her off the edge.

"Sorry..." She stuttered out as a single tear rolled down her left cheek. Patrick never thought that he would hear the mighty Teresa Lisbon stutter.

"I'm okay, I can barely feel it. And either way, it was my own fault. I went too far." His voice was soothing as he talked. He didn't want to upset her any more than he had already had.

"I didn't mean to..." She started frantically looking for something. With every word, her voice was getting even more defeated as she was unable to find it on her person.

"I know, I know, Teresa..." Patrick hadn't called Lisbon by her first name in a while. It felt strangely amazing being able to say it again. Even in this situation. "I just really need to know. How do you truly feel about me?"

"I... I... I love you..." She looked so tired when she spoke, as if the weight of the entire world had crashed upon her. Patrick feared that she might pass out right then and there. "But our lives are more complicated than that, aren't they?"

"They don't have to be."

* * *

AN: In the end, it took longer than a month for me to upload. I can only blame my laziness for that, I'm afraid. I even had a week off, which I could've put to good use, but a TV show happened and that plan went out of the window. The next (and the final) chapter might also take a while to arrive (though I will try to upload it in less than a month).

Also, I'm overwhelmed by the great response Costume Jewellery received! I beyond thankful for the honest and helpful feedback all of you left. I want to let you know, that I'm taking everything into consideration. Though I can't apply everything I've learnt in this particular fic, I will be sure to make good use of my newfound knowledge in my future fics. And well, with the draft of the last chapter already written, I can start thinking of another Jisbon fic.

Hope you liked this chapter! Positive and negative comments are welcome!


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